


Salt and Fake IDs

by Yalu



Series: spn_verse challenges [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/pseuds/Yalu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"...Are we serial killers?"</i><br/>Written for the Mini-GISHWHES challenge at <a href="http://spn-verse.livejournal.com/">spn_verse</a>. Prompt: <i>Write a fic where Sam and Dean both lose their memories at the same time. </i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt and Fake IDs

The badge with his photo on it said his name was "Richard Sambora". That... that didn't feel right.

The guy who'd woken up next to him, coughing just as hard and with grass stains all over his suit, was grinning as he read his own badge. "I'm Jimmy Page. Cool!"

"Why is that cool?"

Jimmy stared at him like he'd done something _more_ crazy than lose his memory and wake up coughing on the edge of town. "Led Zeppelin, man, don't you know anyth-"

"You mean you remember something? About who you are?"

Jimmy hesitated. "Uh... no. Just that Jimmy Page is awesome and... not me." He scowled and shoved his badge back in his pocket.

'Richard' studied his own badge. Special Agent Richard Sambora, FBI. But it didn't feel right. "Maybe we're undercover?" he said. "It would explain the names and the suits and why we're out here without backup."

"And why we're neck-deep in the kind of crap that can wipe memories. But why'd we have ID on us? Hey, look at this," said Jimmy suddenly. He pulled a set of car keys from his pocket and dangled them in Rich's face. "Bet I've got the coolest car in town, too. FBI salary, man. We are obviously living the life."

He grinned. Rich just shook his head and started walking towards a stretch of road lit up by streetlamps fifty or sixty feet away. It was the only sign of life in this - park? Too dark. Grassy patch between town and forest. So whatever took their memories must've taken them here. Or they'd tracked it here.

If it was a person. Somehow he was sure it was.

Behind him, Jimmy muttered, "Wonder who I pissed off to get partnered with you."

"What?"

"What?" echoed Jimmy innocently.

Rich scowled and deliberately took longer strides so Jimmy had to scramble to keep up.

The road was quiet - not one car drove across it the whole time they walked over. Must be really far on the edge of town. Or maybe this was a reserve.

"Oh _man_ , look at this!"

Rich turned. Jimmy had found a car cleverly parked in a black patch between streetlamps, just off the road in the bushes where it was almost impossible to see. It was... old. Older. Cosy and safe (why did _those_ words spring to mind?) but not modern, not flashy, yet Jimmy was crowing over it like he'd found a baby, running his hands over the bonnet and crouching to admire the headlights. He jangled the keys and unlocked the drivers' door, grinned, and pulled out a duffle from the back seat. "Think this is mine, or yours?"

"Your car." Rich shrugged, scanning up and down the road for any signs of... anything. "What's in it?"

"Just clothes. Jeans, shirts, an awesome leather jacket. Couple of flashy ties."

"That's weird." There was definitely no one around - no cameras, either. Rich frowned, thinking. "Gimme the keys, would you? Maybe there's something in the trunk."

Jimmy tossed them over and starting stuffing the clothes back in the duffle. It only took a second for Rich to unlock the trunk - his hands did it on their own, obviously really familiar with Jimmy's car, so maybe they both used it, worked together a lot, Rich's own stuff could be in here. Hey, that- Was that a false bottom?

Shit. _Shit_.

"Uh, Jim?" he said. "Come look at this?"

Jimmy tossed the duffle inside and sauntered over casually until he saw what was in trunk and stumbled. "Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"That... This is creepy."

"Yeah," echoed Rich. His mind whirled. Fake aliases. FBI badges. A suit each and a few spare ties - to make the costume seem different every time. And now a trunk chock _full_ of guns and knives and _swords_ and bottles full of all sorts of grainy stuff. There were only so many ways to put all that together.

"Are we... are we serial killers?"

Jimmy shook his head kind of dazedly. "There'd probably be more rope. And - gags and stuff. And souveniers from the vics."

"Drug dealers?"

Bravely - no, absolutely _stupidly_ , what was he thinking? - Jimmy picked up one of the bottles of white stuff, unscrewed it and sniffed. Then he licked his finger, tapped one of the grains and stuck it in his mouth. He made a face. "Salt."

"So we're... undercover FBI agents with an old car and a trunk full of salt and old guns." Yeah, that sounded so much better.

"Maybe not, man," said Jimmy. "Maybe we're just... antiques collectors."

"With FBI badges."

"We're Feds who go antiquing?"

Rich picked up one of the shotguns. It was well-worn, obviously used a lot, not old enough to be special - not like that beautiful old Colt pistol lying half-pinned under a can of spray paint. "Most of these aren't antiques. They're just... guns."

"Lots of people collect guns." Jimmy was starting to sound a bit panicked. "Maybe it's part of our job. You know, special agents and all."

But Rich shook his head. "This car's not Bureau issue."

"But we're undercover! Maybe this is, like, our cover," said Jimmy like he was pleading for it to be true. Rich glanced over to see him looking up at the sky, arms spread wide and palm-up.

"Are you praying?"

Jimmy stiffened. "Uh, no?"

"Yes you were, Dean."

Both Rich and Jimmy whirled around to find a guy in a trenchcoat standing _right_ beside them, and jumped as far back as they could with a car in the way. Rich grabbed the nearest weapon - the Colt - and cocked it. "Who are you? How'd you get here?"

The guy suddenly looked nervous. He awkwardly raised his hands in surrender and peered at them. "Sam, what's wrong with you?"

"Is that my name?"

"You don't remember?"

Jim carefully walked closer, keeping his hands open out front. "No," he told the guy. "We don't remember anything. Do you know us?"

The guy nodded. "Yes, I'm your friend. I'm Castiel."

"Weird name," said Rich, frowning. "Why should we believe you?"

"I... am an angel of the Lord."

Rich didn't bother glancing at Jimmy - he _knew_ the guy was about to say-

"Yeah, right."

-so he just kept the Colt levelled and let Jimmy do the talking. United front. It felt right.

But the trenchcoat guy, Castiel, just sighed irritably and took a step forward. "And I am your friend," he said, "and since you know nothing of who you are, how you got here or how to regain your memories, I suggest you decide whether or not you are going to shoot or if you will trust me when I say I can help you."

...Okay, that seemed right too, somehow. Familiar, sort of. Rich hesitated, then looked at Jimmy, who seemed just as unsure.

"So maybe you are," said Jim, taking another step, "but how the hell do you think you can-"

Trenchcoat guy lunged, locked his hand around Rich's wrist and yanked so the Colt was pointed away. Rich stumbled, automatically pivoting backwards to elbow the guy on his 360, but Castiel was _fast_ and next thing Rich knew there was a hand coming around to grab his head - two fingers jabbed against his forehead - he could vageuly hear Jimmy shout and feel the whump as he tackled the guy-

And then - _ow fuck white OW_ \- it all came back.

Sam sat up, grimacing as pain shot through the elbow he'd landed on. His legs were pinned down - by Cas, who was twisted half out of Dean's best headlock with his fingers square between Dean's eyes. For a second, they were frozen, then Dean slumped. Cas let out a breath and turned around. "Are you all right, Sam? Do you remember?"

"Yeah... There was a witch, she'd been toasting people." Sam's hands curled and he jerked upright, dislodging both his friend and his brother. Yeah, that was _definitely_ the Colt he was holding. "Dude, what were you thinking?" he demanded, staring at Cas. "I could've killed you."

Cas tilted his head. "An ignominious death, but it would have been worth it."

He stood and offered a hand to Sam, pulled him up effortlessly, then did the same for Dean, who was muttering, "Jimmy fricking _Page_."

Sam buried a smile and shared a glance with Cas. "She zapped us when we followed her towards the woods; county records say she owns a property there. Think we can still catch up?"

"Of course," said Cas, and lifted his arms to put a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Hey, hey!" said Dean, shaking him off. "Not without my baby."

Cas sighed.


End file.
